Hermione Granger, the Cleverest Witch in the World
by aussiesheila47
Summary: What would The Princess Bride be like, told with the Harry Potter characters instead? Maybe a little something like this ... currently on hiatus.
1. Playbill

'**Hermione Granger, the Cleverest Witch in the World.'**

**_Playbill:_**

_Buttercup_: Hermione

_Westley_: Ron

_Prince Humperdinck_: Viktor

_Vizzini_: Percy

_Inego_: Harry

_Fezzik_: Hagrid

_Count Tirrone 'Ty' Rugen_: Severus 'Sniv' Snape

_Miracle Max_: Amazing Albus

_Valerie_: Minerva

_Dignified Clergyman_: Wilkie Twycross

_Albino_: Draco

Enjoy!

**A.N: I _was_ going to do this with the Marauder-Era characters, but some things just wouldn't work. Plus it's now kind of against my ethic to present James (Westley) as preferable to Severus (Prince Humperdinck) for Lily (Buttercup), even though this is firmly rooted in the pre-DH Potterverse.**


	2. Prologue

Prologue 

"_Lorna Doone_ again?" Mum said witheringly. "Violet, your _grandmother_ studied that in school."

"It's an oldie, but it's a goodie," Violet said defensively.

"Have you read anything that was written after 1950?" Mum demanded. "Newspapers and _Reader's Digest_ don't count."

"_Lord of the Rings_," Violet replied at once. "And the _Chronicles of Narnia_. Not to mention books by Agatha Christie."

Mum rolled her eyes. "Make that 1980, then."

Violet was silent. No, she had never read a book published after 1980 to herself, in fifteen years of life on Earth.

"That's quite an accomplishment, dear," Mum said dryly.

PBHP

A random book appeared quite suddenly on Violet's antique desk. Violet picked it up. Leather-bound, it looked sufficiently antique to be – 2007? Oh, goodness.

Ah well, Mum wanted her to read contemporary fiction, right? And it _looked_ like she was reading an old book, right? Why not get the best of both?

A niggling voice told her not to judge books by their covers. Violet ignored it and began to read.

**A.N: The Grandfather is not going to make an appearance. Most fifteen-year-olds of my acquaintance can read themselves. Most of the ones I like to be around like to read as well.**


	3. Chapter 1

Chapter #1In the beginning, there was love 

Hermione could hardly remember when Farmboy – oh, what was his real name? – had not been with her family. The cows had not given such good milk, and the wheat yield had not been so great. They were the only pertinent facts she recalled.

If the thing Hermione enjoyed most was riding her Hippogriff (closely followed by solving Arithmancy equations) then ordering Farmboy around was definitely in the top ten.

Strangely, Farmboy seemed to – Ron! Ron was his name. Hermione knew she'd remember it if she thought about it hard enough. Er, where was she? Oh, of course. Strangely, though _Ron_ seemed to enjoy following her orders. "As you wish," he said, when she'd finished detailing her exact requirements. _As you wish_ was all he ever said to her, and it was getting on her nerves. Was the boy a broken record? (This was after records, and record players).

Of course, Hermione reflected, a witch as clever as she was ought to have known right from the start that Ron had an ulterior motive.

Hermione was sitting at the outdoor table solving some Arithmancy equations when her quill-tip snapped. Ron happened to be passing. "Farmboy, hand me that spare quill," Hermione commanded.

Ron picked up the quill and handed it to her. "As you wish," he said quietly, with some inexplicable emotion turning his clear blue eyes stormy. It was then that it hit Hermione with the force of a stampeding troll. For when their hands touched, there had been a spark. When Ron said "As you wish," what he really meant was, "I love you."

Inexplicably, Hermione found herself _liking_ Ron's stormy eyes. But it would never do. Ron was just the local help. _She_ was the Captain's daughter! … Oh. Oops. Wrong story. _Princess Bride_, not _HMS Pinafore_ … okay, I'm back on track now. Let's try that again.

Inexplicably, Hermione found herself _liking_ Ron's stormy eyes. But it would never do. _She_ was the dentist-farmer's daughter! "Don't fall for me, Farmboy," Hermione said flatly. "I haven't got time for it."

PBHP

A few weeks later, Hermione and Ron had successfully managed to avoid each other. Mr and Mrs Granger, Hermione's parents, were out of town – out of country, in fact. While they lived in Florin, they sometimes had to attend conferences in Guilder. (This was after conferences.)

The village playboys – all five of them – decided that now would be a perfect time to have a little fun with the oh-so-clever Miss Hermione Granger of Bag End Farm. They snuck into her house (this was before locks), crept up to her room and dragged her, kicking and screaming, to the stables where her beloved Hippogriff was kept.

Hermione screams woke Ron, who had the room above the stables in return for the work he did on the farm. He could see Hermione writhing on the ground as one of the youths kicked her. Ron slid a whip off the wall, jumped into the fray and drove the bad boys off.

Hermione lay limply on the ground. The Abraxan horse whinnied. Ron knelt beside her and pushed her bushy brown hair out of her face, startled, though he shouldn't have been, to find tears rolling down her cheeks.

Hermione sat up shakily. "Oh, Ron," she breathed. Now _that_ had a legitimate excuse for startling Ron; he hadn't realised that she knew his real name. "Hold me."

"As you wish," Ron said tenderly, both out of force of habit and because he hoped, probably foolishly, that she'd appreciate it. It only served to make Hermione cling to him all the tighter as she sobbed.

Eventually he walked her back up to the house.

"Why did you do it?" Hermione asked as she stood in the doorframe. "Save me, I mean."

"They were hurting you. You were screaming," Ron replied. "Your father wasn't here."

"They wouldn't have got me out of the house if Father was here," Hermione pointed out.

Ron sighed. He couldn't lie to her. "Do you remember telling me not to fall in love with you?"

Uh-oh, his eyes were stormy again, Hermione noted. Mesmerised, she nodded.

Ron gave a humourless laugh. "It was too late.

That was it. That cinched it. Hermione snapped. Abandoning all semblance of sanity, she threw herself into Ron's arms.

Ron had no fortune so when Hermione's parents came back, he left for America, there to seek his fortune. However, a few months later, a letter arrived by owl post to say that Ron's flying carpet had been taken by the Dread Pirate Neville Longbottom. And _everyone_ knew that the Dread Pirate Neville Longbottom took no survivors.

"I will never love again," Hermione declared.

**A.N: 'Don't fall for me, Farmboy, I haven't got time for it' is a classic phrase from the pilot episode of **_**Lois and Clark**_**. Check out the revelation fics and see how many have Clark referencing it, and saying that it was too late. Bag End Farm is, of course, a play on **_**LotR**_


	4. Chapter 2

Chapter #2Stuff and Bother 

Prince Cornelius was the son of King Cornelius and Queen Arabella, but Queen Arabella had died when Prince Viktor was five years old and King Cornelius had then married Queen Dolores. Ever since, he had grown sicker and sicker. Prince Viktor suspected Queen Dolores, because it was the done thing to always believe the worst of one's stepmother.

It was also the done thing for the heir to the throne to get married. Prince Viktor saw beauty only in animals and architecture, especially in their destruction. His passion was to spill blood, but as wars were frightfully expensive he usually indulged his lust for blood in hunting. He could track an eagle on a cloudy day. He _would_ find a wife.

The Prince and his men scoured the kingdom to find a girl suitably dowdy, clever, and healthy enough. Dowdy so no other man would attempt to seduce her. Clever so she could help in war strategies. Healthy so she, like Queen Arabella before her, could bear healthy baby boys. (It wasn't Prince Dmitri's fault his nurse had been a Guiderian double agent and had dropped him from his twelfth-story nursery window into the alligator-populated moat.) Finally, they found Miss Hermione Granger.

Hermione knew it was a great honour, being asked to become the new Princess. But it wouldn't bring Ron back. Hermione noted the sharp sword hanging at Prince Viktor's side and knew that if she refused, her head would end up in the lettuce bed to her right. So she said yes, hoping that Ron's spirit and the Florinese republic would forgive her for entering into a marriage not with her beloved.

PBHP

After the engagement, the only thing Hermione took solace was her daily Thestral ride. Arithmancy held no comfort for her for she knew what the outcome of every equation would be – unhappiness.

Hermione and her Hippogriff Crookshanks touched down in one of the few forests Prince Viktor had not destroyed, for it was Heritage Listed. (This was after the Heritage List). A rustling noise made Hermione jump. She turned to face the source, and found three men standing there, looking rather lost. One was tall and had red hair like Ron's, and that inexplicable 'smart' look all true nerds have. One was of medium height with an incredibly fit fencer's body and a scar in the shape of a lightning bolt on his forehead. The other one was immensely tall, very hairy and had crinkly beetle-black eyes.

"Excuse us, Miss," said the one with hair like Ron's. "We are but poor lost circus performers, looking for our convoy. Is there a village nearby?" 

"There is nothing," Hermione replied apologetically, "not for miles." (This was before Florin went metric.)

The redhead leered at her unpleasantly. "Then there will be no one to hear you scream."

The giant lifted his immense hand and, for Hermione, the world faded to black.

**A.N: King Cornelius is Fudge, and Queen Dolores is Umbridge. Queen Arabella is a random OC. Reviews are always appreciated!**


	5. Chapter 3

**Chapter #3 Inconceivable!**

_Part I – Simply Stalking_

When Hermione came to, she was lying, trussed up like a turkey, on a flying carpet. The redhead sat at the front end, steering. The fencer sat facing the other way at the opposite end, keeping watch for followers. The giant sat beside Hermione, keeping watch over _her_.

"Who are you and what are you doing?" Hermione demanded. "Return me to Prince Viktor at once!"

The redhead chuckled. "I am Percy," he told her. "The oaf beside you is Hagrid. The moron at the back is Potter. As to what we are doing, why, surely such a clever girl as yourself can understand the merits of Guilder keeping you hostage. Your Prince Viktor will stop at nothing to get you back, especially if it means entering into war!" He cackled maniacally. "Only, we will not give you to Guilder. The war will drain both countries! Mwahahahaha!" he cackled again, then began to cough as he choked on his own spit; having been so caught up in laughing, he had forgotten to swallow.

Hermione pouted, for in her current state of immobility she could do little else to show her annoyance.

After a while, Percy became annoyed as well, just not for the same reason as Hermione. "Face the front, Potter!" he barked. "If you look for too long into the sun, even if it's setting, you will go blind. And then how will you fence?"

"I'm just making sure no one is following us," Potter explained.

"That idea is inconceivable," Percy snapped. "Face the front."

"Yes, Percy," Potter muttered. But he didn't turn around.

"What are you waiting for?" Percy demanded.

"I think someone is following usm" Potter announced.

"Inconceivable!" Percy exclaimed, turning around all the same. "It's probably just some local merchant on a test-fly," he said dismissively.

"So why has he been following us for at least half an hour?" Potter asked.

They had been flying for half an hour? Hermione felt dizzy.

"Inconceivable," Percy muttered again, and urged the carpet to fly faster. Hermione felt her hair fan out behind her.

"I do not think that word means what you think it means," Potter remarked. "He is gaining on us."

"Inconceivable!" roared Percy, and he swerved the carpet hazardously to one side. "We'll lose him in the mountains!"

This, as it turned out, was not such as good idea. While their carpet was the size of a bed spread, their stalker's carpet was more the size of a bath mat, which meant that the stalker had greater agility.

Percy was now severely ticked off. He ordered Hagrid to untie the bonds holding Hermione's feet together and to blindfold her instead.

The carpet swooped down. Hermione was glad for the blindfold; it kept her unruly hair in order. Next thing she knew, the carpet was rolled up with her inside it, a la Cleopatra. And from the bouncing movements she guessed Hagrid was carrying her up a mountain. Percy was certainly screaming at him to go faster.

**A.N: As this is a pre-DH story, Percy had not sufficiently redeemed himself enough to merit my writing him in a more complimentary manner. His insults to Harry and Hagrid do not in any way reflect my own opinions of those two wonderful character! Reviews are always appreciated.**


	6. Chapter 4

**Chapter #4 Inconceivable!**

Part II: Potter's Past 

As the stalker – a redhead dressed all in bright orange except for his black boots, mask and gloves – flew overhead, Potter raised his sword and slit an incision into the bottom of his flying bath-mat – er, that is, flying carpet. The man in orange tumbled to the ground.

"Merry Christmas to you, too," the man in orange said irritably, standing up with a groan. "I think I sprained my _gluteus maximus_."

"I think you mean, 'Happy Halloween,'" Potter pointed out, indicating the stranger's odd attire. "Why _do_ you wear a mask?"

"Oh, they're terribly comfortable," the man in orange replied enigmatically. "I think everyone will be wearing them in the future. Why did you slit my carpet?"

"To distract you," Potter explained. "My master doesn't want to follow him, so, you see, I have to kill you."

"Oh," said the man in orange expressively. "Well, that _does_ put a damper on our relationship."

"Before we duel," Potter said suddenly, "do you have a tattoo of a skull with a snake for a tongue on your left forearm?"

The man in orange pulled up his left sleeve to reveal … a lot of freckles and some scars that looked like rope burns, but no tattoo – not even of a Pygmy Puff. "Do you always ask strangers that question?"

"My parents were killed by a man who had that tattoo on his left arm," Potter explained. "He would have killed me, too, but I jumped out of the way so he missed my heart and gave me this scar instead." Potter pushed back his messy fringe to show his lightning-bolt scar more clearly. "Then we both fled. I spent then ext twenty years learning to duel. When I meet that tattooed man, I will go to him and say, 'Hello. My name is Harry Potter. You killed my parents. Prepare to die."

The man in orange said quietly, "A touching story."

"Are you sufficiently recovered for us to duel?" Potter asked briskly. The man in orange nodded. They unsheathed their swords, saluted and fell into _en garde_. "You seem a decent enough fellow," Potter said sadly. "I hate to kill you."

"You seem a decent enough fellow," the man in orange replied. "I hate to die."

While I myself am a fencer, I'm not much good at describing bouts. The ones I watch are for competition, not to kill – and movies do duels no justice at all. Suffice it to say that the man in orange, who was fencing left-handed, took a while but eventually, after many clang!s, gained the upper hand over Potter, who was also left-handed.

It looked grim for Potter. However, Potter chuckled.

"What's so funny?" the main in orange asked warily.

"I know something you don't know," Potter replied as he parried a particularly vicious attack. He switched his sword to his right hand. "I am not left-handed."

There is debate in fencing circles as to the degree of difficulty in fencing a left-hander, right-handedly. Most assume that it is easy. Those who _have_ fenced left-handers say otherwise. Unless they are absolute masters and know _how_ to defeat those pesky left-handers. (I'm not and I don't. It's quite frustrating, really, because my competition is filled with lefties.) However, if twenty years of intensive training don't make one a master, nothing will. Potter easily gained the upper hand.

"Truly, you are a master," the man in orange said, with all due awe."

"I ought to be, after twenty years," Potter replied. "Why are you laughing?"

"I know something you don't know," the man in orange replied. "I'm not left-handed either." He switched his weapon to his other hand and quickly gained the upper hand himself, successfully relieving Potter of his sword.

"I'd sooner destroy a stained glass window than a master such as yourself," the man in orange told Potter frankly, "but as I can't have you following me, either –" he continued apologetically, and his Potter over the head with the handle of his sword, issuing a dull thud. Potter crumpled to the ground and the man in orange took off up the mountain-side, following Hagrid's deep footprints.

**A.N: Just to clear a few things up, I am drawing inspiration from both the book and the movie versions of **_**Princess Bride**_**. I am also not prejudiced against left-handed people; it's just that they are really hard to fence when you're right-handed like myself, and I'm not that good anyway. Reviews are always appreciated.**


	7. Chapter 5

**Chapter #5 Inconceivable!**

_Part III – Brutal Bout_

Percy and Hagrid had been watching the bout below with detached interest from about three quarters of the way up the mountainside until the man in orange knocked Potter unconscious. Percy unrolled the carpet, and pulled Hermione further on, higher up, hissing at Hagrid over his shoulder to fight the man in orange as he (Percy, that is, not Hagrid) pulled Hermione to the summit.

"How do I fight him?" Hagrid asked.

"Your way!" Percy shrieked at him.

"Well, what's my way, then?" Hagrid asked.

"Pick up a rock, and when the man in orange gets near you, lob it at his head!" Percy screamed. Hermione began to seriously doubt his sanity as he pulled her along. "Mind your footing," Percy snapped at her. Hermione scowled at him. She was not an athletic girl, she was a studying girl. She wasn't used to running.

"My way's not very sportsmanlike," Hagrid muttered, but Percy was always right (except for when he said 'Inconceivable!') so Hagrid decided he'd better do as he was told. When the man in orange came within throwing distance, Hagrid duly threw a rock at him, which splintered three feet (or 0.9 metres) in from of the man in orange. "I didn't have to miss," he called as the man in orange stared up at him. "I just thought it'd be fairer on both sides if you had some warning."

"Much appreciated," the man in orange said. "So, you'll put down your rock and I'll put down my sword and we'll try to kill each other like civilised people?"

"That sounds fair," Hagrid agreed.

Duly, Hagrid lay down his rock and the man in orange pay down his sword. Hagrid put his hands out. The man in orange charged him like a bull charges a flapping towel. However, he almost suffered whiplash on impact. The giant was _very_ solid. The man in orange charged again, this time flailing his arms to punch the giant's stomach, to the same result.

"You're just funning with me, aren't you?" grumbled the man in orange as he backed off.

"I want you to feel as though you're winning," Hagrid said kindly as he reached for the man in orange, who nimbly sidestepped him.

They made like Tom and Jerry for a while, minus the dynamite (this was before the Western world discovered explosives) before the man in orange jumped from a boulder to Hagrid's back, to which he clung like a limpet clings to a rock, and by so doing, effectively choking the giant.

Like Potter before him, Hagrid fell to the ground. The man in orange clambered off him, and made his way to the summit.

**A.N: This seemed much longer when I had it written in longhand. Oh well. Originally, I had planned to have Neville as Fezzik, so the line was 'So you'll put down your Mimbulus mimbletonia and I'll put down my wand and we'll try and kill each other like civilised people?' but at the time, Dan Radcliffe wasn't quite so much shorter than Matt Lewis, and Hagrid kind of fit better anyway. ****I can't write Hagrid's accent, so I just didn't try. I also don't think he's quite that dumb to follow orders like Percy's blindly, but it was kind of necessary for his role of Fezzik. Reviews are always appreciated!**


	8. Chapter 6

**Chapter #6 Inconceivable!**

_Part IV – Iocane Idiot_

While Hagrid and the man in orange had been fighting, Percy had set up a meal for three – cheese, unleavened bread (just in case the man in orange won and happened to be Jewish) and Firewhiskey.

As yet, glass was not being used to hold liquid, so the goblets holding the containing the drinks were roughly-hewn wooden ones, not fine-stemmed glass or, depending on the pay-packet, crystal. Then again, glass and crystal are not the hardiest of materials. Even today they are apt to shatter instead of bounce.

The cheese and bread were laid on three small wooden plates, which themselves lay on a large, flat boulder with a perfect view of the scene below. Hermione sat on a small boulder to Percy's right, her head held high as befitted a princess-to-be.

"Inconceivable!" Percy said again. Hermione took that to mean that Hagrid had been overcome.

"I think Potter was right," she commented. "That word mustn't mean what you think it means."

"If I want your opinion, highness, I'll ask for it," Percy snarled, and gagged her. "Oh, here he comes now." He held a knife – a very sharp one, at that – to Hermione's neck.

The man in orange had not even broken a sweat as he jogged up the hill. (For even a man as fit as he would not _run_ up a mountain so steep.) At the sight of the 'table' before him, however, the man in orange stopped dead.

"So it is down to you, and it is down to me," Percy called loudly. "If you wish her dead, by all means, keep moving forward."

"Let me explain," the man in orange began.

"There's nothing to explain," Percy interrupted him. "You're trying to kidnap what I have rightfully stolen."

Hermione frowned. Was Percy being funny on purpose?

"Perhaps an arrangement can be reached?" the man in orange queried. Hermione rather fancied she had heard his voice before … but where?

"There will be no arrangement," Percy said coolly, and pressed the dagger closer to Hermione's skin. "And you're killing her," he added as a reminder as the man in orange stepped forwards.

"Well, if there can be no arrangement, then we are at an impasse," remarked the man in orange. Hermione _knew_ his voice, she was sure of it!

"I'm afraid so," agreed Percy. "I can't compete with you physically, and you're no match for my brains."

'You're that smart?" said the stranger, and he sounded surprised. Hermione couldn't blame him; how many criminals were intelligent?

"Let me put it this way," Percy sneered. "Have you ever heard of Plato, Aristotle, Socrates?"

"I know their work intimately," the man in orange replied, effectively ruling out Prince Viktor as his identity.

"They are morons," Percy declared.

"Really," said the man in orange, and paused. "In that case, I challenge you to a battle of wits," he announced.

"For the princess?"

The man in orange nodded.

"To the death?"

The man in orange nodded again.

"I accept," Percy declared.

"Good," said the man in orange, spreading his arms wide. "Then pour the wine."

Percy indicated the already-filled goblets. The man in orange seated himself on the grass in front of the 'table' and pulled a small vial from a pouch next to his scabbard.

He uncorked the vial and held it out to Percy. "Inhale this," he said ,and held up a cautionary finger, "but do not touch."

Percy sniffed. "I smell nothing," he told the stranger.

"What you do not smell is called Iocane powder," the man in orange told him. "It is odourless, colourless, dissolves instantly in liquid, and is among the more deadly poisons known to man."

Hermione resisted the urge to twitch away. The man in orange picked up his and Percy's goblets, turned away, and appeared to pour the poison in one of them. Then he replaced the goblets exactly as they had been.

"All right. Where is the poison? The Battle of Wits has begun," he said briskly. "It ends when you decide, and we both drink, and find out who is right," here the man in orange paused for dramatic effect, "and who is dead."

"But it's so simple!" Percy scoffed. "All I have to do is divine from what I know of you: are you the sort of man who would put the poison into his own goblet or his enemy's?"

It was a very good question, Hermione thought. If only she wasn't gagged, she could join in as she longed to do. It was merely practical Arithmancy.

"Now, a clever man would put the poison into his own goblet, because he would know that only a great fool would reach for what he was given," Percy mused. "I am not a great fool, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of you."

All right, all right, drink already, Hermione thought irritably.

"But you must have known that I was not a great fool," Percy continued. Hermione resisted the urge to groan. "So I can clearly not choose the wine in front of me."

"You've made your choice then?" the man in orange asked.

"Not remotely!" Percy exclaimed. "Because Iocane comes from Australian, as everyone knows, and Australia is people entirely with criminals, and criminals are used to having people distrust them, as you are clearly distrusted by me, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of you."

"Truly, you have a dizzying intellect," remarked the man in orange.

Just get on with it, thought Hermione irritably.

"Wait 'til I get going!" Percy exclaimed. "Where was I?"

"Australia," the man in orange supplied.

"Yes, Australia," Percy said. "And you must have suspected that I would have known the powder's origin, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of me."

"You're just stalling now," the man in orange said accusingly.

(Clearly, Hermione thought.)

"You'd like to think that, wouldn't you?" Percy growled. "You've beaten my giant, which means you're exceptionally strong, so you could've put the poison into your own goblet, trusting to your strength to save you, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of you."

Oh, hurry up, Hermione thought.

"But you've also bested my fencer, which means that you must have studied," Percy went on. Hermione rolled her eyes. "And in studying, you must have learnt that man is mortal, so you would have put the poison as far away from you as possible. So I can clearly not choose the wine in front of me."

If Hermione wasn't so good at Arithmancy, she would have been quite confused by his logic.

"You're trying to trick me into giving something away," said the man in orange flatly. "It won't work."

"It has worked!" Percy yelled. "You've given everything away! I know where you're the poison is!"

"Then make your choice," commanded the man in orange. His sentiment was shared by Hermione.

"I will, and I choose –" Percy broke off. "What in the world can that be?" He flapped his hands at something behind the man in orange.

The man in orange looked behind him. "What? I don't see anything," he said as he faced Percy again.

"Well, I – I could have sworn I saw something," Percy said. He smirked.

"What's so funny?"

"I'll tell you in a minute," Percy promised him. "First, let's drink. Me from my glass, and you from yours."

They drank. "You guessed wrong," the man in orange said brightly.

"You only think I guessed wrong! That's what's so funny!" Percy cackled. "I switched the glasses when your back was turned! Ha-ha, you fool! You fell victim to one of the classic blunders! The most famous is to never get involved in a land war in Asia, but only slightly lesser-known is this: never go in against a red-head when death is on the line!" He continued to cackle maniacally again, but he would have done better to heed his own advice as the man in orange was a redhead as well. The poison took effect quite soon, at which crucial juncture, Percy choked out one last 'Inconceivable!' and collapsed, dead, to his right.

The man in orange removed Hermione's blindfold and gag. "Eat up," he commanded.

"Who are you?" Hermione demanded, once she'd gotten over the shock of seeing a man garbed almost entirely in Ron's favourite colour.

"I'm no one to be trifled with," the man in orange replied. "And that is all you ever need to know. I'm brave enough to wear bright orange when I have red hair, aren't I?"

"And to think," Hermione mused, as she broke a piece of bread, "all that time it was _your_ cup that was poisoned." It would never do to let this oh-so-manly man to realise that his hostage could think for herself. She ate the bread.

"They were both poisoned," the man in orange told her. "I spent the last few years building up an immunity to Iocane powder."

Now, that made more sense. No matter how long Percy dithered, whichever goblet of Firewhiskey he chose, he would have been poisoned, and the man in orange would still be sitting there alive.

This time, Hermione had no choice but to go with the devil she _didn't_ know.

**A.N: Dialogue lifted almost directly from the script of the movie. I think it's one of the funniest scenes in the movie, which is almost always giggle-worthy anyway, but as it's so confusing I had to download a script to base this off. Hermione's thought mirror my own throughout the scene in the movie. I know that as she was blind-folded and so couldn't have seen what Percy and Ro – erm, the man in orange were doing, but the anonymous narrator could. Damn you, Vizzini, Australia is _not_ a penal colony anymore ... As always, reviews are always appreciated.**


	9. Chapter 7

**Chapter #7 The Other Side Of The Mountain**

Once Hermione and the man in orange had partaken of their meal, the man in orange encased Hermione's arm in a steely grip and led her down the other side of the mountain. The couldn't use the carpet, because after a flying carpet has been rolled up, it takes a while to recover.

About a third of the way down, Hermione because out of breath from weaving between boulders. The man in orange stopped and pushed her at one, saying, "Rest."

"If you release me," Hermione panted, "whatever you ask for ransom you'll receive, I promise you."

The man in orange laughed, a bitter, incredulous laugh. "And what is that worth, the promise of a woman? You're very funny, Highness."

It was a great pity that the Women's Liberation Movement was still several centuries away, although Hermione could not have known that as she held a certain disdain for Divination and Seers. "I was giving you a chance," she said coldly. "It does not matter where you take me." She jutted out her chin stubbornly. "Prince Viktor is the finest hunter in all of Florin. He can track a falcon on a cloudy day; he _will_ find you."

The blue eyes of the man in orange turned stormy. "You trust that your beloved prince will save you?"

"I never said he was my beloved," Hermione spat, "and yes, he will save me."

"You admit that you do not love your betrothed?" the man in orange asked. He sounded surprised. Again, Hermione could not blame him. How many girls fooled themselves into believing that they were in love with the prince of the realm?

"He knows I do not love him," Hermione said dismissively, tossing her bushy chestnut hair.

"'Are not capable of love,' is what you mean," the man in orange snarled.

"I have loved more deeply than a killer like you could ever imagine," Hermione told him, her voice hollow.

The man in orange made to slap her, but she flinched back. "That was a warning, Highness," he said in a voice as hard as steel. "The next time, I will slap you. Where I come from, there are penalties for a witch who lies."

Hermione gasped with realisation. "I know who you are," she breathed. "Your cruelty reveals everything. You are the Dread Pirate Neville Longbottom!"

The man in orange bowed like a courtier at Versailles (the one in France, not the one in America). "At your service. What can I do for you?"

"You can die slowly, cut into a thousand pieces," Hermione growled.

"Well, now, that's hardly complimentary, your Highness," remarked the man in orange. "Why loose your venom on me?"

"You killed me love," Hermione reminded him.

"It's possible," said Longbottom lightly. "I kill a lot of people. Who was this love of yours? Another prince, hunter, Quidditch player like this one, ugly, rich and duck-footed?"

"No, a farmboy. Poor. Poor and perfect," Hermione whispered. "With eyes like the sea in a storm." She raised her voice. "On the airways, your band attacked. And the Dread Pirate Neville Longbottom never takes prisoners."

"I can't afford to make exceptions," Longbottom informed her, shrugging. "I mean, once word gets out that a pirate has gone soft, people begin to disobey you, and it's nothing but work, work, work all the time!"

"You mock my pain!"

"Life is pain, Highness," Longbottom said sharply. "Anyone who tells you otherwise is smoking Floo Powder." He paused as though in thought. Hermione was at great pains to flying at him and keep from gouging his eyes out. "I think I remember this Farmboy of yours," he said slowly. "This would be, what, five years ago? Does is bother you to hear?"

"Nothing you can say will upset me further than you did when you killed him."

"He died well," said Longbottom matter-of-factly. "That should please you. No bride attempts, or blubbering. He simply said, 'Please. Please, I need to live.' It was the _please_ that caught my memory. I asked him what was important for him here on Earth. 'True love,' he replied.

Hermione closed her eyes. This marauding pirate had no business being on the same planet as Ron; who was he to jeer at true love like Hermione and Ron had shared?

"And then he spoke of a girl of surpassing intelligence and faithfulness – I can only assume he meant you," Longbottom continued. "You should bless me for destroying him before he found out what you really are!"

Hermione opened her eyes and raised her eyebrows. How could she be happy about Ron's death? "And what am I?"

"Faithfulness he talked of, madam, your enduring faithfulness," Longbottom spat. "Now tell me truly; when you found out that he was gone, did you get engaged to your Prince that same hour or did you wait a whole week out of respect to the dead?"

Hermione stared at him. How could he think that, after all she had said about Ron? "You mocked me once," she burst out. "Never do it again. I _died_ that day!"

Longbottom's body language betrayed his surprise and disbelief.

"And you can die too, for all I care," Hermione added, and pushed him, hard.

Longbottom was caught off-guard, and fell backwards. Unable to regain his balance, he rolled over and over. As Hermione muttered to herself about how he should have applied constant vigilance around her – "I am a woman, and not to be taken for granted!" – she heard a cry, barely discernable. "As … you … wish!"

Hermione clapped her hands over her mouth in horror. "Oh, my sweet Ronald," she breathed. "What have I done?" Without a further thought, she flung herself down the mountainside after him. She would regret it, later - no one wants to be bruised on their wedding day.

**A.N: When I started this, I forgot that Westley/Ron impersonates Roberts/Neville, but it was too late to change it. 'The Dread Pirate Bellatrix Lestrange' didn't work so well. Reviews are always appreciated!**


	10. Chapter 8

**Chapter #8 Where Was The Prince?**

Prince Viktor looked up from a detailed drawing of the anatomy of a centaur as the clock struck ten. He smiled to himself. Hermione, bless her Arithmancy-loving heart, would be in that dratted forest right now.

"I'm going for a ride," he announced to his best friend, the Count. Florin was a small country; there weren't too many nobles. A few lords, a few more knights, and Severus Snape was the only Count. "Coming?"

"If my liege so wishes," Snape answered.

However, when they arrived at the stables, Crookshanks was standing in the walkway between the stalls, whinnying and looking very distraught.

"What is it?" Viktor asked, after bowing. Hippogriffs and his father were the only things he would bow to. He looked all over the beast, and his hand found a stretch of material attached to the saddle. He pulled it out, and Snape sucked in his breath sharply. "Guilder," Viktor said shortly. "They've kidnapped my princess." He swung himself onto a Nimbus Prime, barked at Snape to mount a broom himself, and took off.

Nimbus Primes didn't have much speed, but what they lacked in that, they made up for in agility. They were truly a Quidditch broom. It helped, because Florin was like Greece; very mountainous.

Eventually, Viktor, the Count and a few soldiers were hovering over where Ron and Potter had duelled. Prince Viktor thought quickly, and reached a very plausible conclusion. "There was an almighty duel," he announced. "It ranged all over. They were both masters." (Prince Viktor wasn't given to complex sentences.)

"Who won?" asked the Count. "How did it end?"

Prince Viktor frowned, staring at the footprints. "The loser … ran off alone, and the winner … followed those footprints – towards Guilder."

"Shall we track them both?" asked the sergeant.

"The looser is nothing," Prince Viktor said dismissively. "Only the princess matters. Clearly, this was all planned by Guilderian warriors. We must all be ready for what lies ahead," he added darkly.

"Could this be a trap?" asked the Count.

"I always think everything's a trap," the Prince answered. "It's why I'm still alive. Mad-Eye Moody is my idol."

Some time later, because Nimbus Primes aren't much good at navigating slopes, they were at where Ron and Hagrid had fought.

"Someone has beaten a Giant," Prince Viktor remarked, and added authoritavely, "There will be great suffering in Guilder if she dies."

They took off again. It was slow going again until the reached the summit. Prince Viktor set his jaw at the sight of Percy, obviously dead, and picked up the vial Ron had left, sniffing at it.

"Iocane," he announced. "I'd bet my life on it. And there," he pointed, "are the Princess's footprints, She's still alive – or was, an hour ago. If she is otherwise when I find her, I shall be very put out," he continued ominously. He summoned the now-functioning flying carpet, and the group flew on that to the next mountain. "They are headed dead into the Forbidden Forest," Viktor explained to Snape, "into which even I do not go. If they make it out, we shall be there to greet them.

**A.N: This is a pre-DH story, but even the Post-DH Severus has Count Rugen's fascination with pain. I'm not sure if Hippogriffs whinny, can someone tell me? 'Nimbus Prime' is a spoof of 'Optimus Prime' from Transformers. (Which I have never seen.) Reviews are always appreciated. Next chapter should be up on the weekend.**


	11. Chapter 9

**Chapter #9 The Forbidden Forest**

Ron and Hermione lay, spread-eagled, in the valley. Ron had lost his mask on the way down.

"Can you move at all?" he asked, concerned.

"Move?" repeated Hermione. "You're alive! If you want, I can fly, without a broom or a carpet or a Hippogriff or –"

"I told you I would always come for you," Ron reminded her. "Why didn't you wait for me?"

They said up and edged towards each other. "Well, you were dead," Hermione replied, still dazed from her tumble and the knowledge that Ron was not, in fact, dead.

"Death cannot stop True Love. All it can do is delay it for a while."

"I will never doubt again," Hermione promised him.

"There will never be a need," Ron said quietly.

They fell into each other's arms.

I have three points I'd like to make. Firstly, I can't write scenes like these explicitly. Secondly, even if I could, the scene would appear totally flat and dull on paper/your computer screen/however you're reading this. And thirdly, all creatures on the planet, from euglenae up, are entitled to some privacy. You're not going to get a reunion scene from me. (Or S. Morgenstern, or JK Rowling for that matter…) Suffice it to say that both parties were pleased to see other again.

After a while, they began to walk along the ravine floor. Ron told Hermione a highly edited version of his adventures on the airways.

What he had said before, about saying, 'Please,' was true. It had stayed the sword of Longbottom. Ron had been allowed to become part of the ship – I mean, part of the crew. After about a year, Longbottom had stopped at an obscure port, and discharged all his crew. It was then that he revealed to Ron that he was not, in fact the real Dread Pirate Neville Longbottom. His name was Seamus Finnegan, and had inherited the title from a man named Dean Thomas. Thomas in his turn had inherited the title from the real Neville Longbottom, who had been retied for several years and was cultivating Mimbulus mimbletoniae at his leisure. It was the _name_ that inspired fear. Who would surrender to the Dread Pirate Ronald Weasley? Finnegan discharged the old crew and took on an utterly new one, calling Ron, Longbottom, all the while. Once the crew believed, Finnegan left and, according to a letter, found a wench named Lavender in his native Ireland. So Ron became the Dread Pirate Neville Longbottom.

As Ron finished his tale, Hermione gasped and stopped walking. "That's the Forbidden Forest! We'll never survive!"

"Nonsense," declared Ron bracingly. "You're just saying that because no one ever has."

In Hermione's opinion, it was a very good reason to stay out of it, but Ron tugged on her arm and she had no choice but to follow him. She wasn't about to leave him; not when she had just found him again after so long.

They had walked but a short distance into the Forest before darkness enveloped them; the canopy was so thick. About a hundred yards after this, an arrow whizzed past Hermione's ear, nearly nicking it. Lucky it didn't, since ears bleed profusely from the smallest cuts, and it wasn't as though either she or Ron had a first aid kit. (This was before first aid kits).

"Centaurs!" Ron hissed, and pulled her to one side. Something scuttled past (Hermione didn't want to think about what it might have been) and then the herd of Centaurs that resided in the Forest, thundered past.

"They won't be back for a while, will they?" Hermione asked.

Ron gently prised her fingers off his arm; she was cutting off his circulation. "I doubt it."

They continued to walk, and the scenery (not that they could see much) became much denser, and somewhat cooler. It was a pity that they couldn't see the wonderful trees of the Forbidden Forest, because they are absolutely spectacular. When wand-lore becomes widespread in Florin, whole tours could be taken there to view those most extraordinary plants.

In fact, one of the plants that they passed is what's known as the Whomping Willow. As the name would suggest, it is a willow that whomps. Sensing the presence of mobile creatures near it, the Willow flexed its trunk and snaked out its branches, coiling one around Hermione's ankle before wrenching her off her feet and dangling her in the air.

Hermione screamed as the Willow's branches flailed her around. Ron sighed. The incident with the village playboys had just been the start of the saving-Hermione thing. It wasn't that he _minded_; in fact, he quite liked Hermione thinking of him as her hero, her knight in shining armour. (Or maybe just orange clothing.) It was just that she seemed to have a knack for getting into trouble. Like now, for instance.

Ron had come across two other Whomping Willows in America, so he knew to look for a knot at the base of the trunk. "Ron! Help!" Hermione shrieked.

"I'm trying," Ron yelled back, keeping his distance as he searched in the half-light (or rather, one-sixteenth light) for the knot, so that he wasn't knocked off his feet or swung up in the air like Hermione, because that would really land them in a pickle. Finally, he found the knot. Unsheathing his sword, he glanced up at Hermione. Her skirt was so stiff that, amazingly, it had not fallen over her head. Ron poked the knot with the tip of his sword and the tree froze. He climbed it quickly, grabbed Hermione's hand and slashed at the branch that held Hermione's ankle. Before she slipped out of his grasp, he swung her onto the branch beside him, slithered down to the leaf-strewn ground, and bade her to jump into his ready arms. (He knew that the grass was leaf-strewn, because the leaves rustled under his feet. And, of course, there can't be leaves without trees. It was such a pity that this was the only Heritage-listed forest in Florin.) Hermione jumped.

Ron lay her gently on the ground, the leaves making a semi-bed. Hermione began to sob – and why shouldn't she? She had been kidnapped, she had found her true love again after believing him dead for months, they had almost been stampeded by centaurs on the hunt, and she had just been attacked by a Heritage-listed tree. She had every right to weep her eyes out, although Ron would prefer that she didn't, because he quite liked them where they were.

When Hermione had recovered, Ron helped her up. He tried to lead her on, but Hermione wouldn't budge. "We'll never succeed," she said plaintively. "We may as well die here."

"Oh, don't say that," Ron deferred. "We have already succeeded." Or rather, he had succeeded in making her walk again. "What are the three terrors of the Forbidden Forest? One; the Centaurs. Now that I know what their arrows sound like, we can dodge out of the way long before they rush past. Two, the Whomping Willow. That was the only one in the country."

"But Ron, what about the Acromantulae?"

"Spiders Of Unusual Size? I don't think they exist," Ron shrugged, right before something scuttled past them and another something grabbed Ron with two of its eight legs. "BLOODY HELL!" Ron yelled as the Acromantula sank its pincers into his leg.

Hermione stood there, frozen, until something dark and red started to trickle down Ron's leg. That was enough to startle her into action. She took off her slipper and threw it at the Acromantula, not unlike Clara in the Nutcracker. (Except that Hermione couldn't have known that, because this was before Tchaikovsky.) The Spider Of Unusual Size whimpered, and then scuttled off.

Ron lay there panting in agony for a while, as more and more blood trickled down his leg, until Hermione had the bright idea to tear off a strip of fabric from her skirt to make a bandage. (Like I said above, neither of them had a first-aid kit.)

"That was nothing like when that dog attacked me," Ron said, getting to his feet with difficulty, referencing the time a large black dog had run through the village market, straight at Ron, who had just dropped a steak. He tried to walk. "Oh, no. It's ruined. It'll have to be chopped off."

Hermione pulled a face. "Lean on me," she suggested. It was the least she could do to repay him for all the times she had relied on him.

Ron limped forwards, and then began to walk normally, just very slowly. "I think it'll be all right."

"No amputation necessary, then? Good," Hermione said under her breath, and took his hand in hers as they walked (or in Ron's case, minced) forwards. They could see more of the wonderful trees that make up the Forbidden Forest, which must have meant that they were nearing the other side, as well as being a metaphor for the adage, 'The darkest part comes before the dawn.'

Eventually, and with no further mishaps, they reached the far side of the spectacular Forest.

"We did it," said Hermione in wonder.

"Now, was that so terrible?" asked Ron, who was about ready to pass out from the pain in his leg.

They walked a few paces further, before realising that They Were Not Alone. Prince Viktor, Count Snape and half-a-dozen soldiers stood before them.

_Bugger_, thought Ron.

_Oh, dear_, thought Hermione.

"Surrender!" exclaimed Prince Viktor.

"You mean you wish to surrender to me?" Ron said, bowing slightly. "Very well, I accept."

"I give you full points for bravery," Prince Viktor said bravely. "Don't be a fool."

"Ah, but how will you capture us?" said Ron, before Hermione could get a word in. "We know the secrets of the Forbidden Forest; we can live there quite happily for some time, so whenever you feel like a lawsuit, burn it down."

"I tell you once again, surrender!" Prince Viktor snarled.

"It will not happen," said Ron, with the air of one commenting on the weather.

"For the last time, surrender!" Prince Viktor yelled.

"Death first!" Ron spat.

"Will you promise not to hurt him?" Hermione demanded before either of the men could say another word.

"What was that?" Prince Viktor said, wrong-footed.

"What was that?" Ron echoed, equally bemused.

"If we surrender, and I return with you, will you promise not to hurt this man?" Hermione asked.

Prince Viktor sighed. "May I live a thousand years and never hunt again."

"He is a member of the gang of the Dread Pirate Neville Longbottom," Hermione said. "See to it that he is returned to his comrades."

"I swear, it will be done," Prince Viktor promised her, before making an aside to Count Snape, "Once we're out of sight, take him back to Florin and throw him into the Pit of Despair."

"I swear, it will be done," Count Snape assured him, smirking slightly.

While this exchange was taking place, Hermione was explaining her reasoning to Ron. "I thought you were dead once, and it nearly destroyed me. I couldn't stand it if you died again, when it was in my power to prevent it."

Without further ado, Prince Viktor swept Hermione onto his broom behind him. Ron scowled after them. She'd left him, again. Why did she keep doing that???

"Come, sir, we must get you back to your comrades," Count Snape said to him, his black eyes glinting malevolently.

There was a pause. "We are men of action," Ron reminded the Count. "Lies do not become us."

"Well spoken, sir."

It was then that Ron noticed something rather peculiar about the count's left arm. It had a rather interesting tattoo inked onto it.

"What is it?" Snape snapped, noticing Ron's gaze.

"You have a tattoo of a skull with a snake for a mouth on your left arm," Ron remarked. "Someone was looking for you."

Snape raised his hand and, just liked Hagrid did to Hermione a few chapters back, the world faded to black for Ron.

**A.N: As you may know if you reviewed a previous chapter, the notebook I wrote this in went AWOL which is my excuse for taking so long, as I had to re-write it. **

**I'd like to thank regular reviewers books4evah and avanell – your kind words give me warm fuzzies and inspire me to write the next chapters. Speaking of which, the next chapter (which should be up in a week now that school's back) of this: Snape tortures Ron while Hermione has nightmares.**

**OK, funny story time. I started this fic two years ago to peeve off my friends in the Drama Club at school, because they had just done a play version of _The Princess Bride_, and all my friend wiccabookworm and I talked about was _Harry Potter_****. That's not the funny part, though. Drama Club actually had an on-stage reunion scene.**

**Did I mention that I go to an all-girls' school?**

'**Westley' and 'Buttercup' froze on stage in an Eskimo kiss (the nose-touching one), the girl who played Vizzini (she's the one who inspired Percy/Vizzini's death-call **_**inconceivable**_**) ran out of the wings – yes, we have a theatre on-campus – with a cardboard sign and held it in front of their heads. The sign said in red pen, 'CENSORED!'**

**Well, it was funny at the time. Reviews are always appreciated!**


	12. Chapter 10

**Chapter #11 Kaleidoscope**

When Ron came to, a very pale man was standing over him.

"Yeesh!" Ron yelped. "I don't play for that team!"

The man shrugged his shoulders. "Neither do I." He had white-blond hair, a pointed chin and his skin was so pale, he could have been an albino but for his emotionless grey eyes. "I'm not here to play at all, and neither are you."

_Can you say, over his head?_ Ron thought. "Where's Hermione?" he demanded.

"In the Palace, with the Prince," drawled the man.

"Well, then, where am I?"

"The Cave of Despair," drawled the man ominously.

'Which would be where?"

"I can't tell you that," the man replied helpfully, shaking his head.

"Can you tell me your name?"

"Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."

Ron snorted. "You must be Guilderian." He tried to raise his head, but couldn't. In fact, the only part of his body that he could move was his face. (Jaw included, of course, or else how could he talk?) "What's the deal with my leg? Why can't I move?"

"The Potion that the Count prescribed for your leg only works if the rest of the body is immobile," Draco explained. "Only your face can move. It will help your leg heal faster."

"Why do they want my leg healed?" Ron asked suspiciously.

"How can it be a fair test if the lab rat is sick?" Draco countered, grinning.

PBHP

The Malfoys had actually been a fairly prominent family in Florin – 500 years ago. 500 years ago, Lord Acheron Malfoy had had dreams of becoming the king of Florin, except that, like in _Macbeth_, he wasn't actually heir to the throne. So he tried to usurp it. (As you do.) However, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington got in the way of my Lord's sword, and was practically decapitated, and definitely dead. But he did save King Regulus. (This was part of the reason why there weren't too many nobles in Florin at the present time, so as to reduce usurpation attempts.) Anyway, to cut a long story short, as punishment, the Malfoys had to serve the nobility. Working upwards from being pages for knights, and clerks for squires, the Malfoys could better themselves, as shown by who they worked for. Lucius Malfoy, Draco's father, had reached the top. He was chief of security to the king – or really, to Prince Viktor, since King Cornelius hadn't been on the top of his game lately. As stated back in Chapter #2, Prince Viktor suspected his stepmother. Everyone else suspected Lucius.

Anyway, because of his father having such a prominent position in Florinese society, Draco had been elevated, without much merit of his own, to service rendered to Count Snape, which was how he had come to be the man in the Cave of Despair.

PBHP

Hermione was faring hardly better than Ron. Oh, sure, she could move around, but a month stuck in Hogwarts Castle with nothing to do but curtsey to her future in-laws and visiting dignitaries was exceedingly dull, even with the moving staircases. There was only so many times one could get lost, you see.

And that was just during the day. When darkness fell and Hermione was claimed by sleep, the nightmares began. King Cornelius died, the wedding to Prince Viktor was pushed forward, Rita Skeeter published defamatory articles about her in the _Daily Planet_ – I mean, the _Daily Prophet_. (I always get those two mixed up). King Cornelius died, the wedding to Prince Viktor was pushed forwards, nine months later Hermione had a daughter, which was bad because a son was needed to become heir, and the daughter wouldn't take Hermione's milk. King Cornelius died, the wedding to Prince Viktor was pushed forwards, nine months later Hermione had a son, which was good because of the heir thing, but the son refused to see her.

Variations on a theme, really, but not the one you might think.

Certainly, Hermione was skittish about her impending marriage to Prince Viktor, but it was more the fact that all of her nightmares could potentially happen, and all because, after surviving the Forbidden Forest with Ron, once they had made their perilous way through it, she had rejected him.

_But I saved his life_, Hermione tried to tell her conscience. _They would have killed him without a second thought, otherwise!_

Hermione's conscience stuck her fingers in her ears and trilled loudly, "La, la, la, la, la, I can't hear you, la, la, la, la, la!"

Did I mention that Hermione's conscience's name was Ginny, and that she looked like a female version of Ron, only shorter and with brown eyes?

At the end of the month, when Ron's leg was nearly healed, Hermione was fed up. She stormed into a meeting between Prince Viktor and Lucius Malfoy, the head of security, and demanded that she be allowed to make contact with Ron. "I love him," she declared. "I always have, and I always will. I don't wish to be rude, my liege, but if you will not release me from our engagement, I'm afraid I will be obliged to throw myself off the Lightning-Struck Tower." (This was after lightning was recognised as a phenomenon.)

"Ah," said Prince Viktor, eloquently. "Are you sure that you want to do that, my dear? Think of the people. It's so close to Sir Nicholas's five-hundredth Deathday. Surely you don't want to, er, rain on his parade, so to speak?" (Since this was after soldiers, it was also after parades.)

In her heart of hearts, Hermione didn't really care about Sir Nicholas's Deathday, but it was a national holiday. Since it was akin to treason to voice these sorts of thoughts, she kept silent and merely scowled.

Prince Viktor turned to Lucius. "A little help?" he muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

"If I may, your highness," Lucius said smoothly, perhaps a letter to … Ron, was it? That might do the trick."

"Yes! Absolutely!" cried Viktor and Hermione together. (This was part of the reason why Hermione was so bored. No one argued with her.)

"_Dear Ron_," Hermione began dreamily. "_I know you must despise me at the present time, but believe me when I say I have no wish to live without you. If you force me to try, I will kill myself. Come back to me, my dear one. I love you so. Your own, Hermione_."

Lucius privately thought that Hermione might have had a career writing sonnets – or maybe even romance novels, except this was before novels, and whoever heard of a decent woman having a career?

Prince Viktor privately thought wondered if Hermione was smoking Floo Powder, to be able to make such a short note both saccharine and macabre. "My dear," he said aloud to her, "as I'm not omniscient, I don't rightly know where Ron could be. He could be in America by now. I tell you what – I'll send a copy of your letter with each of my four fastest ships in the four main compass directions. If one of them finds him, and he still wants you, why, if he comes back to claim you, I shall relinquish him to you."

"You are too kind," Hermione said, curtseying. She hurried from the room to find parchment and a quill. On her way out, she almost barrelled into the Count, who could hardly contain his sadistic grin.

"It's ready, your highness!" he cried as soon as she had left the room. "The Potion is ready!"

"What potion?" the Prince demanded.

"The liquefied Cruciatus curse!" cried the Count, hopping from one foot to the other in his agitation.

"Well, test it on the captive already," Prince Viktor said impatiently. "Dismissed!"

The Count bowed and raced from the room, from the castle itself, to the Cliffs of Insanity, which concealed the Cave of Despair – where Ron was, remember? With feverish attention, the Count prepared the area – a Catherin wheel, a stone basin full of the Potion, a long-handled teaspoon, and a jug. Ron was tied to the Catherin wheel, and would have resembled da Vinci's _Vitruvian Man_, except that this was before da Vinci.

"You've not been trained in Occlumency, I presume?" Count Snape asked Ron as he dipped the jug into the basin.

"The art of what?" Ron said warily, eyeing the long-handled spoon.

"Open wide," said Snape pleasantly, dipping the spoon into the jug. Ron kept his mouth tight shut. Snape pressed the spoon against Ron's mouth. "Drink, you imbecile!"

Draco hurried over and wrenched Ron's jaw open. A drop of the Potion fell into Ron's mouth, and that was quite enough.

Repressed memories of Ron's life before he was taken in by the Grangers began to flash before his eyes as though film, except this was before celluloid.

A blue box named the Tardis, which was much bigger on the inside than the outside … a talking lion that wasn't tame … a broken sword, a wizard returned from the dead and a huge eye suspended in mid-air … strange glowing swords that hummed, and an unwelcome paternity revelation … a man in blue, red and yellow Spandex who could fly without a broomstick … a woman in a body of water, holding out a sword to a man …

And then came the not-so-nice images, like vampires in serious need of plastic surgery … a kid who sees dead people … a woman being stabbed in the shower … a man almost decapitated by a crop duster … _Beowulf_ …

And then there were the ones that were just plain weird … fashion of the 1970s … a baboon holding up a lion cub … the last few Roman emperors … _Borat_ … Paris Hilton …

At that point, Ron freaked out so much he came back to himself, still tied to the Catherine wheel. "What the bloody hell was that?" he demanded, as soon as the strange image of a scantily-clad, blonde blowfly had flown from his mind.

"The Potion," replied the Count, a sadistic grin twisting his sallow face/

"That was informative," Ron commented.

"I will test you again tomorrow," the Count told him as Draco untied Ron, still immobile, and moved him onto the wooden slat that served as his bed. (Ron's bed, not Draco's. Go back to the beginning of the chapter, you sick-minded people!)

"I look forward to it," Ron said into the silence that ensued when both the Count and Draco had left the room.

**OK, I know I've said this before, but this is a pre-DH story, so if you are a Severus fan (such as myself), a Draco fan (such as my friend wiccabookworm), a Percy fan (such as regular reviewer books4evah) or a Viktor fan (I don't actually know of any) I'm sorry to disappoint.**

**Acknowledgements: Hermione's nightmares are taken directly from **_**The Princess Bride**_** (book, not film, which is why there are three). The Draco/Lucius/Nick thing is entirely my own idea. Even though I didn't create the characters. Ron's hallucinatory experience is based off a similar scene in **_**The Count of Monte Christo**_** (book version – I read it over the Christmas holidays and realise I should have started with **_**The Three Musketeers**_**, which is much shorter). The potion which induces Ron's hallucinations is, ostensibly, the one which caused Dumbledore so much anguish in HBP26. The point of Ron's hallucinations was to tie this back to real life. I'm not sure I succeeded.**

**Next chapter: 'The Cold-Blooded Prince.' Hagrid and Harry find Ron, to all intents and purposes dead, and take him to Amazing Albus's. Reviews are always appreciated!**


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